


Pointe Me in the Right Direction

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - High School, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Castiel, Ballet Dancer Dean, Clumsy Dean, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, High School, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Panties Kink mention, References to Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tudor Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Cas shakes his head as he looks over at Dean. Even though they’re alone in a completely different practice room, no less, Dean feels exposed. “No, no, your form is still off. Put your right foot in front of the left.”“Great, now we’re playing Twister,” remarks Dean. He does as he’s told, though staggers a little in the process.“Hands down.”“What, you agree?”“No, hands down,” Cas says, moving to grab Dean’s wrists with his own hands.Dean’s breath hitches because Cas’s hands are really soft. “Oh, uh… thanks.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know little about ballet. If anything is inaccurate, feel free to correct me! Knowledge is power.

 

If Dean knew he was getting into far more than pointe shoes, he would’ve dropped out, effective immediately.

Ballet, from Dean’s point of view, seems like an easy A. Dean has a jersey emblazoned with his last name, Winchester, which, in high school football, means he’s worth something. It also means that, for as many days as it takes to scrub off grass stains from his hands from hitting the dirt every week, he knows a thing or two about coordination. Should that mean he has to shift all his weight to his toes, no problem. He does that every so often just to hug his giraffe of a little brother. (Seriously, the kid’s just barely peaking his teens, can’t he sacrifice his morning Wheaties to spare Dean the extra work and humiliation?)

There’s also the _truth_ behind Dean joining ballet class. It’s not to fill a gap in his schedule, or to impress some high society arts school on the east coast. (Although, either of those reasons is good enough for his father, a well-respected forensic anthropologist, who, with _that_ look, might as well be voting Dean off the island that’s their two-story home.)

“ _Girls?”_

“What, like your reason is any better.”

Cas scoffs. Cas is the first person he started talking to since walking in, because _hello,_ another guy in class, _you must be as slightly if not completely as anxious as me, we should be anxious together._ (You know, logically.)

Dean hasn’t seen Cas around before, so he can’t understand why kids at school call him “Asstiel”, the not-so innocent piggyback wordplay of Castiel (hence why he prefers Cas). Not only is he super nice, but with the way Dean’s body reacts to him in that tight black top with matching leggings that accentuates his muscles and many tan lines and pretty much guarantees him a major spot on the reboot of _Baywatch,_ it looks like it’ll be Dean vying for Cas’s affection against the _girls._

“I needed to fill a spot in my schedule,” Cas replies easily, “plus, it looks good on an application. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get into art school if I’m any good.”

Dean snorts.

Cas waves his finger at him. “You laugh now, but just wait until I get offered a full-ride to Juilliard.”

“Alright, class is now in session, my name is Amara Shurley, but you will refer to me only as Miss Shurley,” the instructor, who swivels around at the front of the room with the grace of a ballerina figurine. Only, instead of the stereotypical pink dress, Amara— _Miss Shurley—_ is donning a black, flowing dress. Her cheeks, like her words, are tight, leaving no room for objection as she speaks: “You will take this class just as seriously as any of your others. Ballet is an art and a sport, _gentlemen.”_

Dean and Cas share quizzed looks as she narrows her eyes at them.

“It’s okay,” Miss Shurley says, the first statement that’s not a dictation, “most men aren’t consciously aware they have a bias.”

“Most _people_ ,” Dean chirps up. Dean turns his gaze away from a wide-eyed Cas. “You know, um, because I’m going to major in Psychology, and actually, pretty much _everyone_ has an unconscious bias. Technically, what you just showed is bias towards men _having_ a bias.”

Miss Shurley, to his surprise, smiles satisfactorily. “That’s right. I look forward to challenging all of your minds, each and every one of you, because if you can’t put your mind in motion, your body won’t get the notion…”

Miss Shurley keeps lecturing, but Cas has reverted to leaning into Dean’s personal space to ask, “Are you really majoring in Psychology?”

“Mythology and History Studies, actually,” Dean says, shrugging a little. “But hey, I figure this class will be history anyway, so why not indulge myself.”

Cas’s Adam’s apple bobs fast against his throat as he tries to hold his laugh.

Dean has a feeling he’ll enjoy this class more than he thought.

***

Dean’s trying to work out the knots in his stubbornness.

Mainly because, for one, ballet is so physically demanding, Dean’s positive his toes will be nothing short of reddish-purple stumps that hold him up by the end of the semester by both willpower and rocky pillows of ice.

And for another, Cas is  _really_ amazing at ballet.

Seriously, the guy can make a  _croise devant_ look like the Macarena. Dean’s starting to conspire that the kids at school call him Asstiel because he’s just so friggin’  _good,_ naturally, at anything he does. Cas’s frame, though slightly shorter than Dean’s, is lean everywhere except his thighs and calves, so he glides through the air gracefully. Dean’s already found himself stumbling few times from being absolutely mesmerized by him, which gives Miss Shurley the impression that Dean, her favorite student, is seriously slacking and that Cas, her best student, can partner with him after class to catch him up.

Some girls giggle at the announcement, others fan themselves with the oval hem of their shirts.

Well, at least he has the attention of the ladies.

“I feel like I’m in the  _Titanic.”_

“It’s called a  _quatrieme derriere.”_

“Whatever it is, it’s giving me a wedgie.”

Cas shakes his head as he looks over at Dean. Even though they’re alone in a completely different practice room, no less, Dean feels exposed. “No, no, your form is still off. Put your right foot in front of the left.”

“Great, now we’re playing  _Twister_ ,” remarks Dean. He does as he’s told, though staggers a little in the process.

“Hands down.”

“What, you agree?”

“No,  _hands down,_ ” Cas says, moving to grab Dean’s wrists with his own hands. 

Dean’s breath hitches because Cas’s hands are _really_ soft. “Oh, uh… thanks.”

Cas must sense something from Dean, because he’s ducking his head quickly before announcing, “Okay, spin.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of green grapes. “Pardon?”

“Your form and your posture are good; you can go ahead and do a spin.”

“And fall on my ass again?” Dean scoffs, “No thanks, I’ve sustained enough injuries this week.”

“Dean, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Well, my panties are already in a twist, so.” Dean stops, face burning a bright scarlet. “Not that I’m wearing—you know it’s just part of the expression, panties, because that would be…”

“Dean, we can talk about your kinks afterwards,” Cas states with finality. “Can we focus now?”

Dean nods curtly, but finds even that small action throws him slightly off balance. Instead, he sighs like his sole responsibility on the earth is to keep it turning using the power of wind energy, then starts to turn. At first, he feels like he’s flying, but he’s not preparing for the landing and he comes crashing back down to reality with Cas quick by his side. 

“Dean! Are you okay?”

He feels no less like a child whose father lied to him telling him he would hold onto his bicycle should he fall. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he grumbles, heaving himself up, “no thanks to you.”

“Dean, I didn’t know—”

“No, you did. I  _told_ you I couldn’t do it! I barely learned the form, and you wouldn’t listen!” Dean fumes. “I could have broken my ankle—and with the championships around the corner!”

“Dean—” Cas pleads with those big, earthly blue eyes, but it doesn’t work. Dean’s furious now:

“I guess now I know why they call you  _Asstiel.”_

Dean immediately regrets the words once they’ve escaped his lips, because Cas’s soft, begging eyes have turned hard and cold. “Well,” he says, words spiking like icicles as he starts to stand up, “good luck with your spin. See you in class tomorrow.”

***

Turns out the silence hurts him more than his feet, which is a _lot._

It’s been a whole week—a whole week of Dean stumbling over his own feet. At one point, he even tripped over his shoelace, which is more or less a ribbon, making it extra slippery on hardwood floor. He’s gotten a little better, granted, but he’s still not as far along as the girls. Cas, of course, is a mile beyond everyone, so that doesn’t help his faith in himself, either.

Dean finally breaks after Friday’s class period. Cas is always last to pack up his stuff, so Dean waits before blurting out everything that’s on his mind:

“You didn’t have to tutor me after school. I mean, I know Miss Shurley asked you, but you could’ve blown me off the first chance you got. So thank you for not bailing, and I’m sorry for going off on you for something as stupid as a spin.”

Cas stares at him for all of a few seconds before he breathes a sigh and stands up to meet Dean’s eyes. “It was my fault. You obviously weren’t ready to do it yet, and even if you were, I should’ve watched over you better.”

“You can’t apologize for believing in me. Thank you, for that, by the way,” Dean says, rubbing his neck.

“You’re welcome, but I insist, I was in the wrong too. I shouldn’t have called you out. Some of the things I said were way out of line.”

Dean’s hand doesn’t leave his neck as a blush creeps onto his face. “But not out of the realm of reality.”

“What?”

“I, um… do have a thing for panties. Sorta. It’s a long story, but since we’re coming clean.”

Cas’s mouth runs dry for a few seconds. “I, uhm… wow, um, thanks for enlightening me.”

“It was also stupid to say what I said,” Dean admits. “I would’ve broken my ankle _without_ your help. What I need is to figure out how _not_ to fall and bruise my ass, and that’s all you were trying to help me accomplish, so I’m sorry. I was being a dumbass calling you… you know. Especially since I’m actually super into you.”

Cas smiles shyly. “Ditto.”

“Ditto,” Dean repeats with a scoff. “Wow, that was super romantic.”

“You caught me off guard!”

“Fair enough.”

“Maybe can we avoid using the word dumbass?” Cas offers.

“What should we use?”

“How about trusting?” Cas shrugs, balancing out two invisible objects in his hands. “Less dumb, less ass.”

“Deal,” Dean says, lending out his hand to shake.

Cas accepts, and Dean takes a huge risk in using the momentum to let go and turn his body in a perfect three-sixty—all while on the tips of his feet. Cas gawks and, like Dean, his face breaks into a wide smile: “You did it.”

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes, catching his breath for a laugh.

Cas is staring at him like he’s won gold, and before Dean can say anymore, Cas lunges for Dean’s face.

Of course, Dean’s prepared for the _kiss,_ not for the added weight, so he ends up in his familiar spot: on the floor, only this time, with Cas on top of him.

“Sorry,” Dean chuckles, even more breathless now that Cas is within inches from his face.

Cas laughs, taking on hand braced on the floor to Dean’s face, and replies, before sealing their lips together, “It’s okay. That just means we’ll just have to keep practicing.”

 


End file.
